Homeland: Submission and Lost Thoughts
by Lucretia Debrev
Summary: End of 3x05: Carrie's thoughts as she's being abducted. She considers how her abductors see her as a woman, and she ponders Muslim women's lives in the middle east. (Dialogue between Carrie; her captors are borrowed from the Homeland 3xo5 script, which I own no rights to. Submission (2004) is a short film produced and directed by Theo van Gogh, and written by Ayaan Hirsi Ali.)


They were in her room. _Her_ room. Three strange men. That was weird enough.

But then she heard something she never ever thought she'd hear…

_"Take off your clothes. Everything." _

It was the way he said it. No emotion. No lust. No affection. Nothing.

Everything sort of melted away into: this cannot be happening.

"No please."

Carrie saw the way he looked at her. He didn't give a damn how she looked without her clothes on. He was just following orders. She was just a piece of cargo he had to…undress. There were three of them—who was to say one of the others wouldn't…

_If they were going to rape me they'd've done it by now. _

She wasn't complying. He started to move towards her, his hands moving towards her in the dark, like the boogeyman.

_Oh _fuck_ no! _

"Okay," she said, a little to angrily.

She unfolded her arms, put them against her side—that was the first step, lowering her guard.

"Okay I'll do it."

With that—it became final. Once she'd said she was going to do something—anything—she almost always went through with it. And this was another thing she'd _said_ she was going to do, ergo she _was_ going to do it.

Carrie began to undress with an unsteadiness in her hands that she could not control.

She remembered watching a short film called _Submission_, it had consisted of monologues of Muslim women who had been beaten, or raped, either by their husband or a relative. In the Qu'ran, it stated that a man could slap their wife, if they're wife were clean, pure, and refused sleep with him.

Carrie undressed slowly. She was painfully slow…

_Shouldn't I be moving faster? What if I don't move fast enough? What if they become impatient and…no. No don't think about that. This is one thing you'll keep off the record—from Saul, from Quinn, from everyone. If he asks, I'll tell them they gave me clothes to change into or something and they were decent and turned around. _

Those men didn't think their wives could get an education, and do something brilliant, they were worthless in every way except for fucking and giving birth to kids. To their husbands, and their relatives—they were draped furniture—a possession.

_Is that the way these men see me? Sure it is. No—you're lower than that. A possession—that's your's, that's something you have, and you have it because you _want_ it. Me? The only reason I'm wanted is because I _might_ matter to their boss. Otherwise…they'd hate me. I probably wouldn't even be worth raping because I'm a white, American woman—an infidel—and I'd only be corruptive…a crazy, worthless…_

"Dress now."

"What?"

She could feel her energy seeping from her pores—how could she possibly get lost in thoughts at a time like this?!

_Damn it Carrie! Focus! Don't get lost in thought-that's one sure way you'll get yourself killed _

"You dress now. In these."

"No. No this isn't right. This—this isn't what we agreed."

"Nothing is agreed. Get dressed."

For a moment she completely panicked.

_Nothing is agreed. Nothing is agreed. Nothing. Nothing is motherfucking agreed. No agreement that you won't be killed or raped or tortured or beaten or—or…!_

A vivid image came to her—she could see anonymous women in black, only their eyes visible—tear stained eyes, black eyes, blood-shot eyes, fearful eyes, disillusioned eyes—beckoning her to submit to an overpowering darkness because the situation was beyond her power.

_No. I won't give up. I can't. I'm not just doing this to protect and serve my own country—I'm also doing this to protect the people in other countries who can't protect themselves—whether it's from bombings, bullets, or beatings. So I can't just give up—even if I want to. _

She looked at the blue sweat pants and shirt before her and began to get dressed. It was robotic. Somehow the action of getting dressed into those different clothes calmed her. Gave her purpose.

_Breathe, Carrie. Breathe. Nothing is agreed. That also means nothing is _not_ agreed. Just keep that in mind and—_

She was blind, she couldn't see. They'd put a bag over her head as soon as she was dressed.

They led her out the door, hands on her shoulders and elbows. One of the hands did drift down too far, it felt alien and spine-chilling to be touched their by unfamiliar hands, but she tried not to think about that. She was stuck with three people that didn't care about her, and vice versa—so she thought about the people that she cared about, and also cared about her. The people that came to mind were Saul, Maggie, Quinn, and Brody. She put the most comforting images of each of them in her mind and clung to them. A smile, a hug, a concerned look, and a kiss.


End file.
